Agents and Aurors
by leaptad
Summary: This is a Numb3rsHarry Potter crossover. Ron and Hermione travel to Cal Sci trailing a rogue Death Eater. This fic is set postHP book 7. Contents of book are imagined.
1. Chapter 1

Hermione Granger walked across the CalSci campus, squinting at the bright Los Angeles sun. To the outside observer she looked like any other harried graduate student, but there was much more to Hermione than met the eye. She was a witch. Seven years had passed since she had graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Seven years since Lord Voldemort had finally been defeated by Hermione's friend, Harry Potter. Seven years since the wizard war.

She glanced down at the engagement ring on her finger. It wasn't terribly expensive, and to the eyes of a non-magical person, a muggle, it didn't look much like an engagement ring at all. But to Hermione it was the most beautiful thing in the world. Her fiance, Ron Weasley, had saved his auror wages for six months in order to buy it for her.

She could still remember the day he proposed. She had been at the Burrow, his parents' home, where they were temporarily residing. Hermione had been helping his mother prepare dinner by chopping onions while Ginny, Ron's sister and Harry's wife, was busy examining her reflection in the mirror.

"I don't think I'm showing at all!" she exclaimed unhappily.

Mrs. Weasley crossed to her and touched her tummy gently with her wand. It immediately grew out to make her look quite pregnant. "Don't get in too much of a hurry. Before too long, you'll look like this!" She touched her daughter's tummy again and it shrank to its usual size.

"Mum!" Ginny protested. "I don't think that's good for the baby!"

"It's all right," Hermione soothed. "It's just an optical illusion. Nothings happened with your baby. When's Harry coming back, anyway?"

"Next weekend. He's got two more games before he comes home," Ginny answered. Harry had decided, after fighting Lord Voldemort for most of his youth, to retire to a more relaxing and enjoyable occupation, and was now the seeker for the Tornados Quidditch team. Quidditch was the favorite sport among magical folk, and Harry was the top seeker and most popular player in the whole league.

When Harry went professional, he decided he wanted to be known only for his Quidditch playing. He had forced the teams to agree not to refer to him as The Boy Who Lived in any of their advertisements. One of the public relations reps for the team had tried so hard to overcome the spell and call him that in an article he was penning that his quill had suddenly grown fangs and chased him around his office, gnashing its teeth and growling. He had since taken to dictating all of his press releases while standing at a safe distance outside his office, shouting at the quill.

Ron had run in yelling, "I did it! I did it! I'm an auror! I passed all my training!" He scooped Hermione up and spun her around, causing quite a fuss involving a rather sharp bewitched butcher's knife and bits of chopped onion.

"I knew you would be!" Hermione exclaimed, wrapping her arms around him once they were no longer in mortal peril from the knife. Ron, of course, was a shoo-in to be an auror, one of the Ministry of Magic's highly trained agents. After all of the times Ron himself had faced Voldemort, they would be insane not to accept him.

"Marry me!" he said, his eyes wide with excitement. "Come on, say you will!"

"Oh, Ron," Hermione sighed. "Of course I will." The ring had come a few months later.

One evening Hermione awoke from her room in the Burrow to find Ron missing. She shuffled downstairs and found him sitting in the kitchen, brooding. "What's wrong?" she asked, sitting across from him.

"Nothing," he replied. Hermione wasn't going to be put off that easily by the man she had fought along side, laughed with, buried the dead with. She just watched him until he was ready to tell her. "Okay, it's just... the Ministry's wrong."

"About what?"

"The Death Eaters," he said, referring to the name that Voldemort's supporters had given themselves. "The ministry says they're all gone. Locked up in Azkaban. But they're wrong. Look at this." He lowered his voice substantially and showed her a piece of paper. It was neatly printed as if it had been done on a muggle computer rather than written out with a quill and parchment. It looked like a bit of a class schedule but the only part that could be made out was "CalSci - Dr. Larry Fleinhardt - P562 - Nuclear Physics".

"CalSci!" Hermione said. "That's a muggle university. In America. What does it mean?"

"We found it when we were cleaning out a house owned by one of the Death Eaters. We were trying to clear it of any objects pertaining to dark magic. But I found this. His daughter, Nikka Fowling, was never prosecuted properly. Her whereabouts are unknown."

"So you think this Nikka Fowling is in America?"

"I think she's going to try to learn nuclear science."

Hermione shook her head. "Well, there's nothing wrong with witches studying at muggle university, is there? Look at me. I'm starting at University of London studying aerodynamics for the Haywood Broomstick Company. Doesn't make Nikka a death eater."

"Her mother's a Death Eater. Her father's a Death Eater. And we have three eye-witness accounts that she was there at the battle in the Department of Mysteries and escaped. But all of the eye-witnesses are Death Eaters themselves, so the ministry refuses to listen to them." He leaned closer to Hermione. "Voldemort may be gone. The fact that Harry's scar has completely disappeared is proof enough of that. But the Death Eaters remain. And some of them are just chomping at the bit to take over his reign of terror. She's one of them. Believe it."

Hermione was frightened by the look in Ron's eyes. Ron was always the one with a quip or a joke. To see him so serious and passionate was completely out of character. "I believe you," Hermione whispered in return. "But what are you going to do about it?"

"Dunno. I've got to go to America, that's for certain. But the ministry won't send me, they say all the Death Eaters are gone. And we don't have any money."

Hermione thought for a moment. "No, we don't have any money. But the Haywood Broomstick Company does." Hermione smiled and her face lit up. "Listen, when I applied for the job to study at a muggle university, they went crazy. I mean, I did do very well at Hogwarts." That was probably the understatement of the year. Hermione had received the highest marks of any student in over fifty years. "If I asked to be sent to this," she glanced at the paper, "CalSci, I bet they'll do it. I bet they'll do it in a heartbeat. And put us up in an apartment to boot."

"Really?" said Ron, looking much cheerier.

"Definitely," Hermione responded. "Here, I'll send an owl first thing in the morning. I'll bet we have their answer by tomorrow afternoon."

Ron grinned broadly. "Smashing. You're dead clever, you know that? No wonder I'm marrying you!"

They both stood and Ron wrapped an arm around her. Hermione smiled at him slyly. "Jury's still out on why I'm marrying you, though."

He led her upstairs. "Must be my rugged good looks."

"Yeah. That must be it."

Hermione smiled to herself at the memory, turned left into a classroom, and sat down at the back. Oh, if these people only knew what she was capable of. Then again, one person knew. And Hermione was only too aware how dangerous that person was. Her smile faded. She took out her paper and pen. For the next hour there would be no more thoughts of Death Eaters or spells. For the next hour she was just another muggle trying to get an education. This was the easy part. The hard part would come later.


	2. Chapter 2

"Accio book!" Ron called. The book Hermione was reading flew out of her hands and sailed across the room where Ron caught it. She glared as he grinned, quite satisfied with himself.

Hermione wished that Ron could try and do things in a more muggle fashion. Hermione's parents were both muggles, so she knew how to fit in. Ron, on the other hand, came from a long line of witches and wizards. He had never lived with muggles for any extensive period of time, except for a couple of disastrous visits to her incredibly patient parents.

When they first moved into the apartment, Ron had tried to put a few charms on the place to protect them, completely forgetting that magic of that magnitude was totally incompatible with electricity. He had managed to blow a circuit within their first two hours of occupancy. He had offered to go fix it, but since what he had in mind involved a magic wand and the place was teeming with muggles, Hermione had banished him inside and set about to fixing the problem herself trying to be friendly with their xenophobic neighbors who disapproved of her accent. Ron's father had pulled a few strings at the Ministry of Magic and gotten their fireplace added to the floo network. She tried to impress on him how rare apartments with fireplaces were.

And here he was, yet again, holding his magic wand and looking like he had just completed some complicated task, even though it was little more than a fourth year spell. "Did you want something?" she asked flatly.

"I was thinking, if you can pry yourself away from your precious books, perhaps we could try and determine how to deal with the evil vermin trying to do away with our world. But only if it won't disrupt your homework, that is."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Alright. What did you have in mind?"

Ron sat down across from Hermione at the table. "Well, first of all, we have to try and find Nikka Fowling."

"I haven't seen her on campus at all," Hermione offered.

"Right. But you haven't been to the nuclear physics class."

Hermione looked horrified. "I can't! It's at the same time as my linear equations course!"

"I don't suppose you could miss it just once? For me?"

She shot him a look that told him that no, she wouldn't be missing her linear equations class any time soon. Ron sighed. "Well, maybe I could go then."

"Ron, you'll stick out like a sore thumb!"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ron, you've never been to any sort of muggle schooling. You could say something, or forget that you can't use that," she pointed at his wand.

"No I won't! I don't use it for everything, you know!" he protested and pointed it at the stove. "Care for a cuppa?" Hermione stared at him. "Oh," he said. "Right. Well, maybe I do sometimes forget." He got up and put on the kettle using his hands. "But no more! From this moment on, I'm all muggle. No more spells. I promise."

"Nikka will know you're a wizard in a second," Hermione said. "Just say you won't go."

"Okay," Ron sighed. "I wish we had Harry's invisibility cloak."

"Well we haven't got it. So that's out."

"I still need to know who's taking that class."

Hermione considered for a moment. "I could get a class list, would that help?"

"Yeah, it's a start. At least I'd have some names. Try and figure out what alias she's using."

"Fine," Hermione said. "I will talk to Dr. Fleinhardt tomorrow, okay? Now can I get back to work?"

"Yes, of course," Ron said. He pointed his wand at the book. "Accio book!" It zipped back to him and he presented it to Hermione who looked disgusted. "Last one, I promise," he said.

--

Hermione walked smartly down the hallway of the physics department to Dr. Fleinhardt's office. The door was closed but she could see that the light was on. She knocked on the door.

"Come in," Called a woman's voice. Hermione opened the door and stuck her head in. Sitting behind Dr. Fleinhardt's desk was a pretty Indian woman. Hermione recognized her as Dr. Fleinhardt's research assistant, Amita. She had taught one of Hermione's seminars a couple of weeks before.

Amita picked up a CalSci mug and took a sip, considering Hermione. "May I help you?"

"Yes, please, I'd like a copy of the class list for the P562 class, nuclear physics."

Amita frowned. "Why do you want that?"

Hermione was taken aback for a moment. "Why? Are they classified?"

"We don't exactly post them on campus. Is there some reason you want the list for that particular class? I mean, you're not enrolled in it."

"No, but many of my friends are. They wanted to start a study group."

Amita took another sip from her mug. "Them I suggest that one of them stop by."

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but couldn't think of anything to say. "Well, fine then," she said. "I'll do that. Sorry to have bothered you."

Amita smiled and set down her mug. "Sorry I couldn't help you."

Hermione left, shutting the door behind her. She had to get that list somehow.


	3. Chapter 3

It was still dark outside when Hermione got out of bed and dressed. She breathed deeply trying to calm her nerves. She kept telling herself that this was going to be a piece of cake and then she could just go on about her classes like nothing had happened. She packed her wand securely in her backpack and stood in the middle of the room.

"Don't be nervous. Everything will be fine," Ron said, crossing the room to her. He was shirtless, wearing only his pajama bottoms. Hermione lingered for a moment, running her fingers over his chest. He gathered her in his arms and gave her a deep kiss. "Okay, off with you," he said with a smile, stepping out of her space.

Apparating onto a muggle campus was probably not the safest thing she'd ever done, but there was no other way. She couldn't walk; it was too far. There were no buses at this hour and they didn't have a car or a bicycle, so all muggle forms of transportation were out. There were no fireplaces in professors' offices like there were at Hogwarts, so floo powder was useless. And she couldn't very well go sneaking around campus dragging a flying broom with her. And that left apparating. There was a heavily wooded area near the physics building that would do nicely. Even if someone was on campus, they shouldn't be able to see her unless they were actually weeding that particular spot, and 4am hardly seemed like an appropriate gardening hour. She had considered apparating directly into Professor Fleinhardt's office, but the chances of someone being there seemed much higher. And she couldn't picture the room without thinking of that research assistant. She didn't want the spell to get messed up and land right in the middle of the poor girl's bedroom.

Ron gave her a smile and a wink and Hermione was off. With a pop she arrived, completely whole on the campus grounds. Apparating could be tricky. If not done properly, one could leave behind an arm or leg. Hermione double-checked that all appendages were present and accounted for and stole to the front door.

The building was dark inside. The only light came from red Exit signs illuminated at either end of the hallway. She made a careful check to make sure no one was approaching and pulled out her wand. "Lumos," she whispered, and the tip glowed. What I wouldn't give for a Maurader's Map of this place right now, she thought glumly. The Maurader's Map was a special map of Hogwarts that showed, not only the location of everything within the castle, but also the location of every person, allowing the user to avoid nasty confrontations.

Hermione made her way down the hall towards Dr. Fleinhardt's office, listening carefully for any muggles lurking nearby. When she got there, she found the door locked. "Alohomora," she whispered, touching it with her wand. The lock came undone and she slipped inside, leaving the door slightly ajar. She turned on the desk lamp in his office, extinguished her wand and laid it on his desk. A moment later, she thought the better of it and stowed the wand back in her bag.

She sighed as she examined the contents of Dr. Fleinhardt's desk. Papers and books were stacked precariously with no thought to organization. One particularly thick folder had a sticky note attached reading, "For Charlie." They appeared to be page after page of numbers. Most likely it was data from an experiment. She put it aside and pulled out a sheet that had a list of printed names next to signatures. It was an attendance sign-in for her fluid dynamics seminar. She recognized her own name about halfway down the page. What she needed was a sign-in sheet for his nuclear physics seminar. But finding anything in this disorganized mess seemed almost impossible.

She began looking at the pages one at a time, but the papers spilled on to the floor between the desk and the door. Hermione cursed mildly under her breath and slipped around to pick them up. She crouched on the floor with her back to the door and began gathering up the pages, checking each one.

POP! Hermione froze. Had she just heard something? She held perfectly still for a moment, listening as hard as she could. What she wouldn't give for one of Ron's brothers' extendable ears right now to allow her to hear into the hallway. Moving slowly, she reached up and turned off the desk lamp. She was now in almost total darkness.

After a few moments, Hermione was satisfied that no one was out there. She hadn't heard any footsteps; no one had turned on any lights. The sound must have been her imagination. She reached up to flip back on the light but as soon as her hand touched the metal, she suddenly felt her body seize up.

She was completely rigid from head to foot. She felt herself falling backwards with no way to adjust her balance. The fall seemed endless. She was watching the ceiling rush over her and with a loud crack her head collided with the linoleum. If she had been able to speak, she would have let out a grunt or a scream, but her mouth was frozen shut. She knew what had happened. This was Petrificus Totalis. She, herself, had used the curse on a fellow classmate, Neville Longbottom, during her first year at Hogwarts.

But she had seen something, she was sure of it. As she fell backwards she had gotten a brief glimpse of the door. Someone with long hair was leaving the office. Could it have been Nikka Fowling? She couldn't see much of anything, just a flick of hair as they exited. In the dim light it had been impossible to tell what color it was. It could have been black, or dark brown, or even a particularly deep shade of auburn. It would be no help at all in identifying her.

She could see the clock on the wall from where she was lying. It was 4:15 am. She would just have to wait until someone found her. She hoped that Dr. Fleinhardt wouldn't decide to call in sick that day. As the hours slipped by, Hermione drifted off to sleep.

--

Charlie and Larry were strolling down the long arcades of CalSci, Charlie wheeling his bike beside him. The wisteria hanging above the arches of the arcade had just started to bloom, and the purple flowers cascading over the pale tan stucco were a lovely contrast. He wondered briefly if he's ever seen Amita wearing purple, and then shook his head. Ever since she'd become Larry's student instead of his, he'd found himself thinking about her more and more often. Nothing had come of it yet, but he was starting to get tired of his father's hint-dropping. Even Don was getting in on it now, which was driving him nuts. They didn't understand that it wasn't any more appropriate for him to ask Amita out now than it had been a few months ago. The same kind of rumors about her academic ability would spring up if people thought they had only been hiding a relationship while she was under his authority. He had to wait until she had been on her own for a little while longer.

"Did you just hear me, Charles?"

"Sorry, Larry." Charlie lifted the bicycle up a couple of steps. "What did you say?"

"I was asking if you could stop by and pick up the data for those equations I asked you to work for me."

"Yeah, sure. I just wrapped up a case with Don, so I should be able to work on them later today."

"Good, good. I think Amita's free if you think you could use a little help."

"Larry, not you, too," Charlie groaned.

"Me too, what?" Larry's brow momentarily crinkled in puzzlement, then cleared. "Oh, I see. No, in this instance I'm not attempting any matchmaking, my friend. I trust that things will work out in their own time as they are meant to."

"That's refreshing." They paused so Charlie could lock his bike outside the physics building, and then went inside. "Unlike everyone else I know."

"If I might make an observation, though, Ms. Ramanujan hasn't been asking about you as much as she was over the summer. Have you been seeing her with greater frequency now that the term is in session?"

"No, actually I haven't." Charlie's stomach dropped. Was she giving up on him?

"Well, it's just an observation. She has a whole new set of classes to work through, after all. I wouldn't pay it any mind."

"Then why did you say anything?" Charlie muttered under his breath as they climbed the stairs.

They walked down the hall, and Larry slid his key in the lock of his office door. Larry turned the knob and opened the door. "Now the file is inside my – Oh my goodness!"

Larry was completely blocking the doorway, and Charlie had to stand on his toes to see over his head. There was someone laying on the floor in an odd position, with her hands flat against the sides of her body. Larry dashed forward, kneeling down by the figure's head. "It's one of my students," he said, puzzled. "Hermione Granger, the English girl."

"Don't touch her," Charlie said, coming inside and shutting the door behind him. "She might have some kind of injury to her back or neck."

"Yes, yes, I know that. Laurel made me take a basic first-aid class for our overnight hiking trips."

Charlie was looking down at the young woman, whose eyes were closed. He felt a shiver run down his spine. "What do you suppose happened?" he asked, looking around nervously.

"I don't know." Larry sat back on his heels. "What's she doing in my office?"

"What happened to her? She looks like she's catatonic."

Larry had pressed two fingers to her neck. "Her pulse is strong, and her breathing is regular. Could she have seen something that frightened her?"

"Did you leave a copy of your midterm laying around?" Charlie joked weakly.

Larry jumped to his feet more quickly than Charlie would have thought he could, and strode over to his desk. He pulled a small key from his pocket and opened one of the drawers. After rifling through the papers there, he gave a relieved sigh.

"What is it?"

Larry shook his head. "I wasn't too concerned, but if someone could get into a locked room, a locked desk drawer shouldn't be any more difficult. Although…" he trailed off. "Manipulating a wormhole might be easier if one's entire body is traveling through, rather than just a part."

"What are you talking about?" Charlie cast a nervous glance at the unconscious, no, incapacitated person on the floor. "I'm calling 911. And Don."

"That's probably not a bad idea." Larry lifted the phone and dialed the three digits. "Considering what I've got in here, the FBI's assistance is not unwarranted."

Charlie opened his mouth to ask him, once again, what he meant, but Larry held up a hand as his call connected. After giving a terse explanation of the situation and their location, he hung up the phone. Then he pushed the desk drawer shut and carefully locked it. He beckoned for Charlie to come closer.

Charlie refrained from rolling his eyes, but followed Larry's instructions. "What is in your desk drawer?"

Larry lowered his voice. "You're not the only one who does consulting around here, Charles. I've been asked to review the blueprints for the proposed nuclear reactor at Sand Point."

"You shouldn't be telling me things like that!"

He waved his hand. "You have higher security clearance than me and you know it. It's just a final review, but it's obviously a very sensitive document."

Charlie looked down at Hermione again. "What would a graduate student want with blueprints to a nuclear reactor?"

"And what happened to her?" They stood in silence for a moment until there was a knock at the door, and it swung open to reveal two paramedics with a stretcher.

A few minutes later, Hermione had been loaded onto the stretcher, and Larry had insisted on going with her to Huntington Memorial Hospital. "Charles, the emergency contact information for all of my students is in the class file in my computer. I think she has a fiancé here who should be notified."

"I'll do that after I talk to Don," Charlie said, sitting down at Larry's desk. "And I'll be sure to lock up when I leave."

Larry gave him a grateful look, and then followed the paramedics out the door.

Charlie waited until the door was closed again before pulling out his cell and pressing 1 on the speed dial. "Eppes here," came the terse response.

"Hey Don, it's me. Are you busy?"

"No, I'm just loafing around like I always do when I'm at work." The sound of traffic in the background told him that Don was on the road. "What's up?"

"Can you come over to CalSci? We have a bit of a situation here."

"Are you all right?" Don asked sharply.

"Yes, I'm fine, but one of Larry's students isn't." Charlie sketched out the situation, including the blueprints in Larry's desk. "That's all I know, but I was wondering if you could come by and take a look, maybe have a forensic team dust for fingerprints."

"Yeah, sure. It'll have to wait till afternoon, because I've got a suspect to talk to this morning, but I'll send someone over there to secure Larry's office. Don't touch anything, okay?"

Charlie jerked his hand back from the keyboard. "I need to use Larry's computer. Is that all right?"

Don's sigh was a burst of static in his ear. "Just don't touch anything you don't have to, Charlie."

"Okay. I'll see you this afternoon." Charlie hung up and clicked his way through Larry's files, looking for the emergency contact information he had mentioned. There it was. Hermione Granger from London, England. Undergrad at Oxford, but she was missing a couple of years in her CV after that. And her degree was in…He blinked, confused. Why would someone with a degree in physics from one of the top institutions in the world be taking Larry's basic introductory graduate course? Surely she could have tested out of it. He shook his head. There would be time for that later, but he was definitely showing this to Don.

The emergency number was the same as her home number, with a Ronald Weasley listed as the contact person. He wrote down the number and closed out the computer file. Then he picked up the phone and dialed the Pasadena number, waiting as it rang four times. Then a recording of a male voice came on the phone, with a British accent and a hint of uncertainty. "Um, hi, this is Ron and Hermione. Uh, leave a message at the beep." Then there was a faint "Now what?" followed by a faint, "Honestly, Ron!" and then a beep.

He cleared his throat. "This is Professor Charles Eppes at CalSci, calling for Ronald Weasley. Um, you're listed as the contact information for a Hermione Granger. I'm sorry to have to tell you like this, but she's been taken to the hospital. It's Huntington Memorial on California Avenue. Her physics professor is with her right now, Larry Fleinhardt. Um, if you have any questions, my number is 626-555-7196. I'm sure she'll be fine, but don't hesitate to call if you need anything."

He hung up the phone, not wanting to think about the young man's reaction when he got home and got the news from his answering machine that his fiancée had been hospitalized, with no further explanation. But what else could he have said that wouldn't induce more worry? "Hi, your fiancée has gone catatonic after breaking into a professor's office; the FBI will be here later this afternoon to see if she was trying to steal blueprints for a nuclear reactor."

Charlie shook his head and tugged on the desk drawer to make sure it was locked. Then he made his way to the door, double-checking that it was locked behind him. He started down the hall, then went back to triple-check. Larry insisted he had locked his door last night, but you could never be sure that his mind was firmly in the here and now. Thinking that someone had used wormholes to break into his office, for example.

Charlie walked off down the hall, ignoring the voice in the back of his head that said the far-fetched explanation was often right where Larry was concerned. \


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione lay on her hospital bed staring straight up at the bright lights. She had woken up about an hour before in the ambulance. The beds on either side of her had patients in them, but, not being able to turn her head, she couldn't see the occupants. Her hand stung where they had inserted a totally unnecessary IV and there were tubes up her nose feeding her oxygen. She hoped Ron would bring her new clothes as a male nurse had unceremoniously cut hers off her body and dressed her in a hospital gown.

Footsteps approached and the doctor's head appeared over hers furrowing his brow while examining her. He was older, probably close to retirement, with tufts of white hair on either side of his perfectly shiny head.

"Any luck locating family?" he asked Dr. Fleinhardt, who was outside Hermione's field of vision.

"Yes, I just talked to her fiance. He said he was coming, but I don't know how much good he'll do," she heard Dr. Fleinhardt's voice reply. I think he might be on drugs. He didn't seem like he knew how to use the phone."

The doctor sighed. "Well, we'll just have to wait until he gets here." He turned to a nurse that Hermione could barely see. "How long until she's taken for her MRI?"

"She's on the list. It should be within the hour," the nurse answered. Hermione recognized him as the one who has stripped her to her underwear.

The doctor nodded as he shined a light into Hermione's eyes. "Very odd. I'm sure she's had a stroke but her pupils are equal and reactive. I'm pretty sure she can hear us." He began to shout for no apparent reason. "Hello! Can you hear me?"

You're shouting about three inches from my face, Hermione thought scathingly. How could I possibly not hear you? The whole bloody hospital can hear you!

The doctor pocketed his light. "Don't worry, you're going to be just fine," he said, smiling. His face disappeared and now all she could see were the tufts of his hair as he scribbled on her chart. He muttered some orders to the nurse using a word that sounded alarmingly like "catheter".

Ron better bloody well show up before any of that business begins, she thought. Hermione usually didn't curse, but after being under a Petrificus Totalis curse for almost five hours, she was beginning to think maybe she should start.

"Hermione Granger?" she heard Ron's voice. Her heart quickened causing the monitor next to her bed to begin beeping in earnest. "Oh, there she is." His red-headed face appeared over her wearing a huge grin. He was loving seeing her like this. "Hullo!"

"You're her fiance?" the doctor asked.

"That's right," Ron answered.

Dr. Fleinhardt stood up and shook his hand. "I'm Larry Fleinhardt. I'm one of Hermione's professors. She was found in my office. I've just been staying with her until you arrived."

"Right," Ron said, "well, thanks for that. I can take things from here. You must have things to do."

Dr. Fleinhardt looked a bit lost. "Well, yes, actually. But I can stay if you need me."

"Not at all," Ron said, still grinning and waving Dr. Fleinhardt aside. "Off you go. Thanks for everything. Cheers." Ron watched him gather his things and leave, glancing backwards over his shoulder to see if he should really leave her here with him. Finally, Ron turned his attention back to the doctor. "Sorry I'm late. Stopped off for a coffee on the way here."

You had better be joking, Hermione thought.

The doctor sounded alarmed. "Well, um, your fiance has had a fairly severe stroke that seems to have affected both sides of her body. We're going to run some more tests..."

Ron interrupted. "No need for that. She has these spells once or twice a week." He winked at her on the word "spell" making sure she caught his pun. "She'll be right as rain in no time. No worries."

The doctor began again, speaking much slower this time owing to what he perceived to be Ron's limited intelligence. "This .. is .. very .. serious."

Ron's smile went away, as though he suddenly realized that everyone expected him to be concerned about her. "Oh, yes, of course. Very serious. Bewitchingly serious."

Another wink. Hermione had never wanted to kick Ron more than at that moment. "Doctor," Ron said with the utmost of sincerity, "may I have a moment alone with her?"

"Well, yes, of course. I'll be back to check on her. We'll just close these for privacy," the doctor said, drawing the blinds around her bed.

As soon as they were alone Ron pulled out his wand and pointed it at her. The curse lifted immediately. "Do you know," he said, pocketing his wand again, "that you can actually look furious with me without moving?"

"You haven't bloody well seen furious, mate!" she hissed. "Now, come on, I have to do my wake-up routine." She laid back on the bed, pretending to be rigid again and closing her eyes.

"What do you mean? Can't we just go?"

"Of course not!" she whispered, opening one eye. "They don't know about counter-curses, do they? I have to come to. Now, you open the curtains and make a big fuss about me coming around. Like maybe you saw my eyelids flutter or something."

"But your eyes were open before," he pointed out.

She scowled at him. "It's more dramatic this way!" He looked unconvinced. "Fine. You saw me move my pinky. Is that better?" She settled back again and closed her eyes, laying her hands at her side.

Ron opened the blinds. "Hey! You there! Nurse! She's coming around. She's, you know, moving stuff." Hermione winced.

Two nurses rushed over to Hermione's bed. One of them leaned over her. "Can you hear me?" she called.

Hermione blinked her eyes a few times and then allowed them to focus on the nurse. "Oh!" she said and placed her hand to her forehead. "Oh, my!" In a moment of inspiration she tried to sit up and then slumped dramatically back against the pillow with a sigh. Ron, who was standing behind the nurses backs, rolled his eyes.

"Here's some water," the nurse offered, holding it up to Hermione's lips. Hermione took a sip and then began to sputter and cough. Ron appeared to be reading a poster on avoiding teenage pregnancy.

"Can you hear me? Do you know where you are?" asked the nurse.

"In hospital?" Hermione managed in a small voice. "I, I don't remember anything."

The doctor came rushing over and ran through a battery of tests involving his pen light and stethoscope. "Well, Miss Granger, it looks like you've made a complete recovery. Very peculiar indeed."

"Right, then," Ron perked up. "So, we'll just collect her things and be off. Thanks so much for all your help." He grasped the doctors hand and began pumping it energetically.

"No, no," the doctor said, trying to extricate himself from Ron's grip, "Miss Granger will need to be admitted overnight, at the very least. We have tests to run."

"Oh," said Ron dismissively, "she doesn't need all that rubbish. She looks well enough to me. We'll just be off, then."

The doctor placed his hands to Ron's shoulders, which was quite a feet considering Ron was taller by a good six inches, and looked at him with a mixture of pity and condescension. "She's not out of the woods yet. She has to stay here so we can make her better."

"But I've already..." Ron stopped himself. "I mean, you've already made her better." Ron smiled brightly again and clapped him on the shoulder. "Well done! Really excellent work! We'll be off."

The doctor turned to the nurse, apparently deciding Ron was damaged beyond all comprehension. "Can we see if we can have Miss Granger admitted?"

"No, no," Hermione said. "No, I've got classes and exams. I can't lay around hospital when I'm actually fine. You can't keep me here. I'll need some clothes and my things, thank you."

"So," said the doctor, "you're leaving against medical advice? You're sure you want to do that?"

Hermione nodded. "Absolutely."

The doctor paused, eyeing both Hermione and Ron as if they were a pair of raving lunatics. "Fine. Well, that's that, then. Nurse, can you please discharge Miss Grander, here?"

"Yes, doctor," the nurse said and sped off, eyeing Ron suspiciously. Ron just smiled and waved.

--

Larry juggled the piles of papers in his arms until he could extend one arm with the key to unlock his office door. At least he didn't have to grade his exams himself, but he still had to record the grades and hand them back to his students. He wasn't looking forward to seeing what those grades were, since he had had an inordinate number of students visiting during his office hours on the day before the exam, and he got the feeling many of them left just as confused as when they had entered.

At least his British transfer student was doing okay. He had called the hospital late last night to see how she was doing, and had been surprised to find that she had already been released. Before he could draw breath to berate the doctors for letting her go so soon, they informed him that she had regained consciousness, had refused further tests or treatment, and had left with her fiancé.

Larry shook his head as he opened the office door, the memory of the unconscious Hermione on his office floor flashing into his mind. That had been a frightening thing to see yesterday. He didn't understand how she could suddenly be all right, when she had obviously been completely incapacitated in such a strange manner the day before. Something very strange was going on here, and if it weren't the middle of the term with midterms and his other consulting projects to worry about, not to mention having fallen behind two chapters in the textbook, he would devote more thought to it.

The pile of papers in his hand threatened to suddenly follow the lure of gravity, and he just made it to his desk before they spilled out of his arms. He set his burden down gratefully, and crossed back across the office to shut the door. As he sat down behind his desk and started arranging the piles of papers in order to hand them back in this afternoon's class, he reached down to his left in the usual reassuring motion to make sure that the crucial drawer in his desk was locked. His hand closed around the handle, giving it a slight tug, and the door opened.

He blinked, pausing in his alphabetical sorting, and looked down. The drawer had opened. The drawer wasn't supposed to open. The drawer was always supposed to be locked. He had checked at last night before he left; he knew that. Even with his concern over his ailing student, after he'd come back to the office last night, he had checked the drawer. He always did.

So why was the drawer open?

Holding his breath, Larry slid the drawer the rest of the way open, already knowing what he was going to find. The file folder that held the precious blueprints that he was reviewing for the Nuclear Regulatory Council was gone.

He began removing items from the drawer, one at a time, and placing them onto the floor: a textbook he had been asked to review, a three-dimensional model of a black hole made out of string and popsicle sticks, three granola bars for those days when he forgot to bring his lunch, a copy of Charlie's thesis that he hadn't yet bound and put on his bookshelf, and a few assorted odds and ends. That was all.

He looked through the items again and again, as if suddenly the file folder would appear where it hadn't been moments earlier. But it simply wasn't there. He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "This is not good," he said, shaking his head. "This is not good."

He reached for the phone and dialed what was becoming a familiar number: Don Eppes' cell phone. When the voicemail at the other end answered, he sighed and left a message anyway, urging Don to get there as quickly as possible once he received this communication.

He had the urge to look through all of his other desk drawers, in case he had put the folder back in the wrong location. But he knew that last night he had seen the folder in the place it was supposed to be. He also knew that if he started touching too many things, as if his fingerprints weren't already over the place, it would make it that much harder for the FBI to do their job when they came in to investigate. If there were fingerprints in the room that were not his but were on top of his, he could be contaminating the evidence. He turned back to his pile of papers, suddenly feeling that the preponderance of students who had flunked the exam were now a minor concern.


	5. Chapter 5

Two hours later, Larry was sitting on a chair in the corner of his office, listening as Don explained their initial results while a team of agents continued to swarm around his desk.

"Well, the locks haven't been tampered with on your desk drawer or your office door," Don said. "Are you sure that you locked the desk when you last left?"

"Yes," Larry insisted. "I've been racking my brain thinking about it, and I can definitely say that when it was here last night, I distinctly remember that the last thing I checked before I left was that that drawer was locked."

"All right," Don said slowly. "Because if the lock wasn't tampered with, and you're the only one who has a key to it…"

Larry lifted his head to look at him. "Look, I know that you sometimes think of me as the absent-minded professor who has his head in the clouds, but I can assure you that –"

"No, no, Larry, I believe you," Don said, giving him a reassuring look. "I know that this is too important for you to not have paid attention to it."

Larry nodded. "Besides, I'm not the only one who has a key."

"You're not?" Don replied, leaning forward slightly in his chair.

"Well," Larry said, "Charlie and Amita also have keys to my office, and Amita, as my research assistant, has a key to my desk."

"Okay." Don furrowed his brow for a moment, then said, "Charlie was with me last night at the office working on a different case. "Do you happen to know where Amita was?"

Larry stared at him in disbelief. "You can't be thinking that Amita or Charlie had something to do with this!"

"I'm just covering all the bases," Don said, spreading his hands wide.

Larry shook his head vigorously. "Don, I don't understand how you can suspect your own brother or Amita. I mean, she's completely trustworthy, and I don't know why you think she would do something like this."

Don briefly laid a hand on his arm. "I'm not saying she deliberately did anything, it's just that if she was in here last night after you, maybe she's the one who forgot to lock the desk drawer. That's all I'm saying."

"Oh. Okay."

"All right," said Don in a firmer tone of voice, "This is what we're going to do. I'm going to make sure that there's somebody watching outside this building, in case whoever was here comes back because they think they're going to find something else."

Larry shook his head. "That won't be necessary, Don. There's nothing else that could be of interest to whomever took those blueprints."

Don nodded. "I think we need to talk to the girl who was found in your office last night. Any clue where we can find her?"

Larry shrugged and let out a long breath of air. "She's in my thermodynamics seminar that starts in a half hour, so my guess is she's on campus. I'd try the cafeteria, the library, she could even be somewhere on the grounds."

Don got a brief physical description of her from Larry. "Okay, we'll see if we can find her. If nothing else, we can wait outside your class. How sure are you she'll show up today?"

"She never misses class," Larry said. "She asks a lot of questions, so I've come to notice her."

Don stood up. "Okay, Larry, we'll be in touch. In the meantime, just stay out of the way of the forensics team, okay?"

Larry nodded and gathered up a few things. "I'll go work in Charlie's office today so I'm out of their hair. You can call me if you need me."

"Sounds like a good idea," Don said. He beckoned to David and the two men headed down the hallway. Larry followed them out, and then turned towards the math department. He'd have to leave a message for Amita so that she knew where he was. She'd hate to think of her coming to his office and discovering it teeming with FBI agents.

--

Hermione sat at one of the large oak tables in the main common room trying to get a bit of homework done before her next class. It reminded her of Hogwarts, when they did all their homework in this manner. Ron lounged in a chair next to her, watching the telly. Ever since her attack, he had insisted on being by her side every moment, despite her protests.

"I don't understand this American football," Ron said. "It's just people crashing into one another. It's nothing like Quidditch. I wish they'd show Quidditch matches. We could watch Harry!"

Hermione was grateful they were the only two people in the room at present, but she still wished that Ron wouldn't discuss non-muggle things in public like this. She did admit that she missed watching Harry play as well. If it weren't for their weekly fireside chats with Ron's parents through their fireplace, they would have totally lost contact with the wizarding world.

"Perhaps you could do something helpful, instead of staring at that box," Hermione retorted.

"Such as?"

"Such as fetching me my Calculus textbook from my bag. Some of us are trying to work, you know."

"You really are bonkers, you know that?" Ron sighed. "You were in hospital. You don't have to do homework when you've just gotten out of hospital. Just recuperate."

"You know very well that I've nothing to recover from!"

Ron smiled at her slyly. "Yeah, but your teachers don't know that, do they?"

"Same old Ron," Hermione said, smile despite herself.

"Same old Hermione." He got up and sat next to her at the table. Hermione anticipated the feel of his lips on hers as he leaned towards her.

"Hermione Granger?" a loud, authoritative voice demanded. Ron pulled away before contact was made.

"Yes?" she said, looking at the two men in suits who her approaching her, one white skinned and one was black skinned.

"I'm Special Agent Eppes and this is Special Agent Sinclair of the FBI. We were wondering if we could ask you a few questions about what happened the other night in Dr. Fleinhardt's office?"

"What happened?" Hermione asked. "Nothing at all happened. I fainted. Why on earth would the FBI be involved?"

"My brother is Dr. Charlie Eppes of the math department," Eppes replied. "He was with Dr. Fleinhardt when he found you. He called us. There were some documents stolen from Dr. Fleinhardt's office last night, so we'd like to know what happened when you were there."

"Documents?" Ron snapped. "You think she stole something? Here." He tossed her backpack at the agents. Eppes caught it neatly. "Check her bag. You won't find anything."

Eppes unzipped the backpack and began rummaging through the contents. Hermione was glad she was using a regular non-magical bag instead of the Extend-A-Bag Ron had bought her which stayed the same size and weight no matter how much was put in it."

"What's this?" Eppes asked, pulling out Hermione's wand. He turned it around in his hand, admiring it and then handing it to Sincliar for examination.

"It's a good luck charm," Hermione piped up. "Everyone carries them in England."

"I've never heard of them," Sinclair said. "What are they called?"

"Good Luck Sticks," replied Ron. "See, here's mine." He held his own wand up for inspection.

"You don't mind if we keep these, do you? Just to take a closer look?" Eppes said, reaching for Ron's wand.

"Of course not," Ron replied casually, even though Hermione knew he'd rather part with his right arm.

Eppes slipped the wands into evidence bags and casually tossed the backpack back onto the table. "Okay, well, let's just start at the beginning, okay? Now, Ron, your last name?"

"Weasley."

"Okay, and your address back in England?"

Ron quickly rattled off Hermione's parents' home knowing that The Burrow wouldn't be part of the muggles' system.

"That's for both of us," Hermione interjected. "We were living with my parents."

"Okay," Sinclair said, scribbling in his pad, "and you're here on a student visa?" Hermione nodded and fished the document from her bag. "And you?" he asked Ron.

"Oh, I'm just visiting for a few weeks. No visa or anything."

Eppes scowled. "Your voice was on the answering machine."

Hermione was trying to look calm but her heart was pounding. No one was supposed to be looking this closely at Ron. "Right," she answered. "Well, there's no law against that, is there? It's for security. I just feel safer if people think I'm living with a man."

"So," Sinclair continued, "no work visa? What do you do back in England?"

"Actually," Ron answered quite sternly, "I'm in law enforcement."

Hermione wanted to elbow Ron in the stomach. Couldn't he have just said he was between jobs?

"Scotland Yard or...?" asked Eppes.

"Nothing like that. I'm an auror. Ever hear of it?" Ron retorted. Hermione was close to panic. How could he even mention magical things?

"No," Eppes said.

"Well, it's a bit like what you do. Only far more dangerous." Ron was being smug now. Sinclair raised his eyebrows at Ron, unimpressed.

"Okay, that's fine," Eppes said. "Let's get back to the night in question." He turned his attention back to Hermione. "Just take us through what happened."

Hermione crossed her legs. "Okay, well, I was working late in the main library, finishing my fluid dynamics homework. I went to Dr. Fleinhardt's office a little before 4 AM to put it on his desk."

"Was it locked?" Sinclair asked.

"His office? No. Obviously not or I wouldn't have gotten in. Anyway, I went in and right away everything kind of went black. Next thing I remember was waking up in the hospital and being able to see and hear but not move. But it all seemed to wear off, and now here we all are."

"And, his desk, was that locked?" Sinclair pressed.

Hermione shrugged. "I've no idea. I've got no business in Dr. Fleinhardt's desk, have I?"

"So, you were alone in the office the entire time and you didn't see anyone?" Sinclair reiterated.

"As far as I know. I wasn't fully conscious the entire time. So I'm afraid I don't really know at all."

Eppes and Sinclair exchanged glances. "Okay, I think we have what we need for now," Sinclair said, pocketing his notebook. "We'll be in touch, so don't go anywhere for the next few days."

Hermione and Ron nodded and watched the agents leave. "That went well," Ron said, happily.

"No, Ron," Hermione replied. "That went dreadfully."

--

Don sat in his cubicle and took a swig of FBI coffee. He winced at the familiar bitter, too-strong taste. When Meagan had started, she had insisted on bringing in her special mocha hazelnut coffee which had been excellent, but Don has missed the feeling of his stomach lining being eaten away.

"Hey, David said, peeking over the wall, "I've got some stuff on those two English kids."

"Yeah," Don said, leaning back in his chair.

"Yeah. First of all, there's no Ron Weasley registered at that address in London. In fact, there's no Ron Weasley, period. No birth certificate, no nothing. No airline has any record of a Ron Weasley or Hermione Granger flying here from England in the past six months."

"So how'd they get here?" Don wondered out loud.

"It gets better. I looked up the word "auror" in the dictionary, and it's defined as a mythological slayer of dark witches and wizards. I'm thinking maybe it's code for something."

Don scrubbed his hand across his chin. "That it?"

David snorted. "On, no, there's more. I did some checking into "good luck sticks" and there's no reference to them anywhere on the internet. So I had them analyzed by the lab. Mainly, they're wood, but they appear to have "unknown substances" inside them." He laid the lab report in front of Don. "They don't appear to be toxic or harmful, but the labs not taking any chances, they're treating them like HAZMAT."

"Okay," Don said, not sure what any of this meant.

"We lifted fingerprints from the sticks. In addition to the doorknob, Miss Granger also left a nice partial index finger on the lamp. Nothing on the desk door handles, though. Just Larry and Amita's prints there."

"So, Miss Granger isn't being entirely forthcoming, is she?" Don said, taking another sip of coffee.

"What do you think of this Weasley fellow?"

Don rubbed his forehead and said the word that had been swimming around since David started this debriefing. "Terrorist."


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione sat, pouring over her statistics textbook. Why physics graduate students needed statistics, she had no idea. She ranked it with Divinations for her least favorite subject of all time. Well, at least there was a mathematical basis for this, it wasn't just a bunch of people sitting in an attic pouring over tea leaves, and listening to endless droning about how Harry was going to die in some horrible way.

Suddenly, Ron came up behind her, wriggling into her chair between herself and the back. His arms snaked around her. "Hullo," he said.

"Ron, I'm busy!" she giggled.

"So am I. Terribly busy. Doing this." He began kissing her neck below her ear. "And this." He softly nibbled on her earlobe.

"Ron!" she protested meekly. "Your parents will be calling any moment."

"That's alright. Mum's already started after me for grandchildren. I guess she's bored with the ones she has."

Hermione turned and gave Ron a deep kiss, sinking into his surprisingly strong embrace. Two sharp raps on the door broke their revelry. "FBI! Open up!"

Hermione sighed and headed towards the door. This was what she had been dreading...more questions. More questions that had flimsy answers. Her only hope was that they could catch Nikka Fowling and find the documents in her possession, thereby proving that Ron and Hermione were innocent.

Instead of two agents, there were a whole slew of them. It was as if the entire office had taken a holiday and come here. Agents Eppes and Sinclair were among them. "Ma'am, is Ron Weasley here?" demanded Sinclair.

"Um, yes," she said, stepping aside. "But, he doesn't attend university. He's never even been on campus."

"Ma'am," he barked again, "this is official business. I'm going to have to ask you to stand aside." Three men approached Ron, threateningly. Ron took a step back nervously. "Ronald Weasley? You are under arrest."

"For what?" he exclaimed. "I don't bloody well know how things work in America, but in England the person has to have done something to get arrested!"

One of the agents turned Ron around and began to pat him down. "You are under arrest under suspicion of terrorism," Sinclair answered.

"Are you bonkers?" Ron cried as they wrenched his arms behind his back and slapped on the handcuffs. "Terrorism?"

"It's okay!" Hermione called. "I'll raise some money. I'll bail you out."

Eppes walked over to her as they led Ron down the hall. "That's not how this is going to work. As far as we can tell, he's in the country illegally and he's under suspicion of terrorism. There's not going to be any bail and there's not going to be any speedy trial. At this point, we can pretty much hold him indefinitely. Your best option is to cooperate fully with us and we'll see what we can do."

"What is this? Blackmail?" Hermione cried. "I do what you say or you keep him locked up for the rest of his life?"

Eppes leaned a little bit closer to her. "I'm not sure you're really in a position to argue. We found your fingerprint on the lamp. We know you lied. You did a little bit more than go into that office and faint. So I suggest you come with us to the station and we'll have a talk about what really happened in Dr. Fleinhardt's office."

--

Don stood near the doorway of the small apartment and watched the crime lab go over it inch by inch. If there was anything here, they'd find it. Ron was being processed and Hermione was currently being interrogated.

David entered behind Don. "I got the phone records," he announced, holding up a piece of paper.

Don took it from him. "This is it?" he said, surprised by the few calls listed. He flipped to the back of the page. It was blank.

"These calls," David said, indicating a cluster of incoming calls, "were Charlie and Larry trying to get in touch with Weasley when they found Granger. The rest of the calls are all outgoing to the same number. It's Frankie's Pizza on Sixth. Frankie's said they ordered a large pepperoni every couple of days."

"Yeah," Don said, "I've eaten there with Charlie. They have great pizza." He handed the paper back. "Any cell phones?"

"None registered to either one of them."

Don nodded. He secretly distrusted people who didn't have cell phones. He also distrusted people who had them but didn't use them. "We haven't found any in the apartment and neither one had one on them. No computer either."

"Weird," David said. "And that. A fire in the fireplace? It's a pretty warm evening."

"Yeah," said Don. He turned to one of the agents. "Let's analyze the ashes, okay? See if they were burning anything." He looked at the fine for a moment. From there, his eyes went up to the mantle. A small decorative box sat there. Don walked over to it.

Don slipped on a glove and opened the box. A glittery powder was inside. Don had never seen anything like it. He dipped his pinky inside and retrieved a small amount. He touched it to his tongue. It wasn't cocaine or heroin or meth. It wasn't sand or ashes. He gently shook the box and watched the substance move. There was something strange about. It was almost as if it were floating in the box. Larry would probably know what it was. "Let's get a sample of this," he said to the same agent, who nodded.

Don squinted into the fire. Had he just seen, out of the corner of his eye, a head? In the fire? He looked closer. No, nothing was there. I must be overworked, he thought. Now I'm officially seeing things.

"Anything wrong?" David asked.

"No. Nothing," Don answered.


	7. Chapter 7

Larry fished the tea bag from his mug and tossed it in the trash. He blew gently on it, carrying it from the kitchen into his living room, where all of his papers were fanned out. He was hoping for a breakthrough tonight. Or at least a break from the haunting memory of that poor girl's frozen body.

He sat down and looked over his work, sipping his tea. The doorbell rang. Larry put down his mug and went to answer the door.

"Amita!" he exclaimed, staring at the petite brunette on the other side of the door. "Is something wrong with the tests I asked you to grade?"

"No," she laughed, pushing past him to enter the house. "This is more of a social visit."

"Oh," he said, puzzled. "Right. So the tests are okay?"

She placed her hand on his chest. "They're perfect," she said, leaning in close.

"Do I have something on my shirt?" he said, checking where she had been touching.

She ignored the question and moved over to the couch and sat down. She was patting the seat next to her, but he chose a nearby chair instead. "Did you want some tea?" he asked.

She was still smiling for some reason. Larry was beginning to feel uncomfortable. "You know," she said, "I sat in on your nuclear physics lecture today."

"Yeah, I saw you. What were you..."

She slid closer to him, leaning towards his chair. "You are a wonderful speaker."

"Well, I do try to..."

She wasn't listening. "You're so forceful. So manly."

"Manly?" Larry thought about the word. Although, physiologically speaking, he was, most certainly, a man. But the term "manly" had always implied an aptitude for sports and fisticuffs he had never possessed.

She slid a bit closer and patted the seat next to her again. Larry didn't understand why she wanted him to sit so close to her. It was certainly closer than social norms dictated.

"Yes," she said, purring, "manly. It was almost sexy. You know so much about nuclear reactors and such."

"Sexy?" Larry asked, his voice breaking a bit. She was rubbing her hand back and forth on the cushion. Against all better judgement, Larry obliged her by occupying the seat her kept indicating.

"Definitely sexy," she answered. "You could do anything you want with that brain of yours." She leaned very close now, brushing the hair back from his forehead. It was a bit unnerving but it was also a very nice feeling. Her hands were so soft. "I'll bet you could cure cancer."

Larry felt himself flush and chuckled. "Well, I don't know. Maybe..."

"Or discover a new dimension."

"That's physically impossible..."

"Or take control of a nuclear reactor."

Larry stopped for moment. "Oh, sure. I could do that. But the consequences would be..."

She squeezed his leg hard. Larry jumped at the sensation. "Who cares about consequences? We're talking theoretically."

"Well, theoretically, sure..."

She pressed herself against him. Larry leaned back reflexively, his heart thundering in his ears. What was she doing? She placed her hands on either side of his face.

"Tell me how to do it. Tell me and I'm yours. I want you. I need you."

Larry leaned farther and farther back, trying to escape her embrace. He found himself sliding down the couch towards the floor. But she was still coming closer and closer.

"Well, how is a complicated question.." he stammered.

"Tell me!" she hissed and pressed her lips firmly against his.

Larry grabbed her arms and pushed her away. He overpowered her slight frame easily. He shoved her back onto the couch and leapt to his feet. "What on earth is the matter with you, Amita? I think you need to leave." He pointed angrily at the door.

Wait, a small voice in the back of his head piped up, are you asking a beautiful woman to leave because she kissed you? Larry decided to ignore that voice.

Amita stood and smoothed out her clothes. "Fine," she said crossly. "I'm going. But the offer's always open if you change your mind." She swept past him and out the door.

You're an idiot, the voice piped up again.

Oh, shut up, Larry thought. It was awfully annoying how those voices were always right.

--

Larry sat in his car, staring at the front door to Charles' house. Why should he feel guilty? He certainly hadn't done anything wrong. If a woman was so overcome by his lectures that she became libidinous, was that really his fault? Even if the woman was one in whom his friend had more than a passing interest? So why did he feel so ashamed of himself? She had kissed him, not the other way around.

Larry saw Alan come to the window, peek out at him, and then disappear. It was not the first time since he had arrived. It was time to get out of the car.

He exited his car and walked determinedly towards the front door. Alan opened it before he could even knock. "Larry! What were you doing out there?"

"Oh, just, you know," Larry stumbled. "I was just thinking about things. Universes and alternate dimensions and things like that."

"Sure," Alan replied, letting him in. "I think about that stuff all the time. Charlie's in the garage working on… something."

"Something for Don?" Larry asked. He felt himself stalling having to face Charles.

Alan shrugged. "I don't think so. Maybe. Who knows." He sat down in front of the TV and picked up a bowl of popcorn. "You can go on back there, unless you'd rather watch some TV with me."

"No, no, I'm going."

Charles was at the blackboard writing out an equation. Larry recognized it right away. They were the calculations he had promised him. Somehow the knowledge that Charles was doing something for him made this even harder.

"Hey, Larry," Charles said, looking up from his work for a moment. "I'll probably have these done in the next couple of days."

Larry nodded. "Sure, sure. Just take your time. Listen, I had a strange experience tonight."

Charles smiled as he worked at the blackboard. "Another dream where you're falling through time and space?"

"No, no, nothing like that. I… well… Amita came over."

Charles continued working. He finally looked at Larry. "And?"

"And she wanted to talk… to me."

"Okay?"

Larry cleared his throat. "She was asking about nuclear reactors and curing cancer and, um, all sorts of things." He waited for the wave of understanding to wash across Charles' face, but none did.

Charles frowned. "Larry, what are you talking about?"

"Amita. She came over. And she kissed me."

Charles just stared. "What? Who kissed you?"

"Amita. Amita kissed me."

"Amita kissed you?" Charles said, disbelieving. Larry nodded nervously. "Like on the cheek or…?"

"No, on the mouth."

"Amita kissed you on the mouth? No offense Larry, but I find that hard to believe." Charles' eyes flashed with something that Larry hadn't really seen before. It wasn't the righteous indignation of the brilliant. It was rage, pure and simple. He had stopped writing now and was staring at Larry. Larry could tell he was trying to hide it, but the rage shown through nonetheless.

"Well, I assure you, it happened. She did it completely of her own volition. I did not invite her advances."

"You expect me to believe that someone as beautiful and intelligent as Amita decided to throw herself at you?" Charles said, emphasizing that he obviously felt that Larry had no business whatsoever romantically entangled with the likes of her.

"Well, actually, yes," Larry stammered, rubbing his forehead. Charles just stared at him. "She wanted to know how to take control of a nuclear reactor, and then she started kissing me, and then I threw her out."

"You know, Larry," Charles said, violently throwing his chalk into the tray, "what really makes me mad is that you knew how I felt about her and you went after her anyway. You have dozens of new freshman girls in your class every semester. Couldn't you play your little sick games with one of them?"

"Now, wait a second," Larry said, putting up a hand to stop Charles' rant, "I've never laid a finger on one of my students, and you know that. You can't possibly think…"

"Yeah," Charles spat, "we'll see what Amita would say about that. If she files a complaint about you, you can bet I'll be on her side."

Larry was stunned. He'd never heard anything like this come out of Charles' mouth. "Are you joking?"

"No, I'm not. I can't believe you came all the way over here just to brag to me about your little conquest."

"Conquest? Nothing happened! She kissed me and I threw her out!"

Charles turned away from Larry. "Well, I'll just get Amita's side of the story, if you don't mind."

Larry felt like he had somehow traveled into a parallel dimension where everything was upside down. Amita was calling him sexy and telling him she needed him. Charles was calling him some sort of lecherous old man hitting on poor defenseless women (although, as far as Larry could tell, Amita was anything but the virginal waif that Charles imagined her to be). It all felt like a horrible nightmare and he just couldn't wake up.

"I think you should leave," Charles said quietly, not looking at Larry.

"Yes, I think that's probably best." Larry turned and left through the side door so that he wouldn't have to face Alan again.

--

Charlie waited until he heard Larry's car pull away before returning to the house. His head was spinning. Everything was out of place. He couldn't imagine Larry hitting on a woman, any woman, especially Amita. Then again, Larry was a heterosexual male, and had certainly had his share of partners, at least for a physicist, and Amita was an attractive available female.

But why had he come to tell Charlie? If he had tried unsuccessfully to seduce Amita, why bother talking about it? Was he supposed to forgive Larry for trying to steal the woman he had such deep feelings for? And, on a related topic, when exactly had his own feelings for Amita gotten to a point where he was acting like a jealous boyfriend?

He came into the living room where his father was watching the evening news. "Did Larry leave already?" he asked.

"Yeah," Charlie said quietly, not really wanting to engage in a conversation right at that moment.

"Were the two of you arguing?"

"Yeah, dad, we were arguing." Charlie was digging through his backpack for his set of keys.

"About what?"

"Is this really any of your business?" he snapped, and then instantly regretted it. His father looked at him from his chair, eyebrows raised. "I don't know. Something about Amita asking him how to take over a nuclear reactor and… I don't know. He wasn't making any sense."

Alan listened intently, although Charlie couldn't imagine he was making heads or tails out of what he was saying. He knew he was babbling. "Nuclear reactor, huh? That's what Don was working on for Larry, right? Stolen plans for a nuclear reactor?"

Charlie found his keys in his backpack and stuffed them in his pockets. "That doesn't have anything to do with this," he shot back. "Listen, I need to borrow the car, okay? I need to go out for a little while."

"Your permit doesn't allow you to drive alone," his father was saying, but Charlie was halfway out the door already. "Charlie! Where are you going? Can I drive you? Are you alright?" His father was yelling after him from the doorway as Charlie moved quickly towards the car.

He got in and started it up. It had been a long time since he had driven on his own, but it was after 9 PM, traffic should be light, and sometimes you just had to do what you had to do. Right now he had to talk to Amita face to face. And he needed to be behind the wheel of a car by himself. He needed to be a man and deal with all of this head on. If it meant telling Amita, once and for all, how he felt about her, then that's what he would have to do. Then there was Larry. Charlie backed the car out of the driveway and pulled out onto the road. He could see his father standing in the doorway helplessly. He'd have to figure out what to do about Larry later on.

All of the parking in front of Amita's apartment building was parallel only. There was no way he was even going to attempt parallel parking. He drove down the block until he found a Burger King and parked there, hoping he wouldn't end up with a ticket, and jogged back to her place.

He had been here before, several times when she had been his research assistant. There had been long nights over cold Chinese food, his bike leaning against the wall in the living room, pouring over data and equations for his various projects, or her thesis. But this was the first time he had come over uninvited.

He headed up the elevator to her floor and found her apartment door. He knocked and waited. There was no sound from inside and there was no light spilling out under the door. He knocked again, louder, just in case she was sleeping, but again there was nothing.

Feeling foolish, Charlie fished his cell phone out of his pocket. She was probably out. What was he thinking, coming over here like this? He dialed her number. The phone at his ear was ringing, but there was also a ringing coming from inside the apartment. Charlie hung up and tried again, this time pressing his ear to the door. He could hear more ringing. Wherever she was, her cell phone was here inside.

Charlie found his keys in his pocket. Once, years ago, Amita had locked herself out of her apartment and had to pay $75 for a locksmith. The next day she had a spare key made and gave it to Charlie just in case. He stared at it on his ring. Using it would be a huge violation of trust. If he opened this door right now, he would probably lose any chance with Amita he might have. He would lose her trust, her friendship, everything. It would be like committing emotional suicide.

Charlie slid the key in the lock and turned. The lock opened easily. He went inside. The apartment had a musty, dank smell. "Hello?" he called out. No one answered.

Charlie flipped on the light. If anyone was home, they would most certainly be awake now. He moved around the apartment, checking the bathroom and the bedroom. They were empty. There was a lot of dust, more than he remembered seeing on any of his previous visits.

He went into the kitchen. Also empty. There was a foul smell coming from the fridge. Charlie opened it. There was a box of Indian food that was several weeks past its peak, a milk jug that long since expired, some old cottage cheese, and vegetables that were turning soft. Charlie gagged and quickly closed the door.

That wasn't Amita's fridge. Amita's fridge always had fresh vegetables she would buy at the farmer's market. His father's words were rattling around in his brain. Larry had plans to a nuclear reactor stolen from his desk. And now Amita was talking about nuclear reactors, which wasn't really related to her thesis at all. Charlie shook his head. Of course she was talking about it. She was the TA for that class. She was probably talking about the exams she had to grade or something. And maybe she was staying at a friend's house for a few days.

Charlie left the apartment determined to head straight home; enough foolishness for one night. He tried desperately to forget about all of the strange coincidences and odd occurrences. But it was like a math problem. Charlie believed that every problem contained its own solution. All of the pieces were swirling around in his head. The more he tried to ignore them, the more they would try to fit themselves together. He knew he would never sleep until he knew what was going on.


	8. Chapter 8

Charlie sat in the meeting room, nervously tapping on the table. Don had obviously pulled a few strings to get them a private room, although a camera was staring him in the face and there was another one over his shoulder. It was private from the other inmates, but not from the guards.

The door opened and two guards led him in. He was young, younger than Charlie, probably in his mid 20's, with a shock of red hair that clashed horribly with his orange jumpsuit. He sat down staring at Charlie. He had bags under his eyes and he looked gaunt. Charlie's heart started to pound.

"Who're you?" he asked in a thick English accent, glaring at Charlie.

"I'm Charlie Eppes. I'm a professor at CalSci. I was one of the people who found your girlfriend," Charlie said. He couldn't stand meeting his piercing gaze, but he didn't want to stare at the table or the wall the entire time either.

"Have you seen her? Is she alright?" Ron asked hopefully.

Charlie shook his head. "I… I don't know. I'm sorry. I'll find out for you, though. I have a connection at the FBI." Weasley looked decidedly unimpressed at the promise. "Listen, strange things are going on. I thought maybe I could help you."

"You want me to help you?" he laughed. "Are you mental? If you haven't noticed, I'm in bloody prison. They say they're going to deport me. They think I'm a bloody terrorist. Do I look like a bloody terrorist to you?"

"No, actually. No, you don't. Listen, I think there's a lot more going on here than we know about."

"You've got that right, mate."

"I saw something today," Charlie said, whispering for no apparent reason. He knew the microphones could pick up his voice. "I saw something that I couldn't explain. I thought maybe you'd know what it was."

Weasley's eyes narrowed to slits. Charlie had his attention. "Tell me exactly what you saw."

Charlie relayed, once again, the story of the house. Weasley listened carefully, not interrupting, but not acting the least bit surprised. Somehow Charlie got the impression he was talking to the right person.

"Right," Weasley said when he was finished. "This Amita, you say you've known her for years." Charlie nodded. "And she's been acting quite peculiarly? Like she's not herself?"

"Yes, that's right." He wondered what this man knew. "That's exactly right. Nothing she's done lately fits her personality. It's like she's someone else."

"She is," Ron said. He was staring at Charlie intently. It was as if a switch had been turned on behind his eyes. Charlie realized there was more to him than was apparent at first glance. "That's exactly what she is. She's someone else masquerading as your friend. We need to get to her before she knows we're on to her. I need my wand. Can you get it for me?"

Charlie's eyes darted about the room. "Wand?"

Ron sighed and placed his hands on the table. "Listen, you're a man of science, right?" Charlie nodded. He supposed that was an apt characterization. "Well, you're going to find this hard to believe, but you need to try to open your mind. Magic is real." He paused for a moment to let the words sink in.

"I don't understand what you mean."

"I mean what I say. Magic is real. I'm a wizard. I'm a real, honest to God, wizard. But I can't do anything without my wand. This person pretending to be Amita is a dark witch. They call themselves Death Eaters. Think of your Ku Klux Klan, but with powers that you can't possibly understand." Charlie suddenly felt cold and light headed. Either this guy was the only one who knew what was really going on, or both of them had gone bonkers. "You can't stop her. Not without magic. I need my wand. Get me my wand." He tapped the desk for emphasis.

"You say this person is pretending to be Amita. So where is the real Amita?" Weasley just sighed. Charlie just froze. "You mean you think she killed her?"

"I have no idea. Death Eaters; they hate muggles."

"Muggles?"

"Non-magical people. People like you. Amita's life wouldn't be very valuable to her."

"So you know this... this Death Eater?"

"Only by reputation. Her name is Nikka Fowling. Seven years ago was the second Wizard War. A dark wizard calling himself Lord Voldemort came back to power after a 13 year absence. The Death Eaters were his followers. Nikka escaped justice. I came to America looking for her. I found out that she was enrolled in this university so I followed her here. She's trying to find out about nuclear reactors."

"But, why?"

Weasley's voice become very soft. "That's a question I'd rather not know the answer to, mate." Charlie nodded. On that point, they were in total agreement. "I need my wand. Now. Talk to Hermione. She can help you."

"Is she...like you?"

"She's a witch, yes. Please. Hurry."

Charlie nodded and signaled for the guard to come get him. He was an enormous man who seemed to be testing the tensile strength of his uniform.

"What a nut job, huh?" the guard sneered once they were walking down the hallway.

Charlie forced a smile and small chuckle. "Yeah. He's pretty far out there."

"Let us know how you come finding that magic wand, okay?" the guard chided.

Charlie laughed again, pretending to find the guard hilarious. He couldn't believe he was actually on the side of guy who believed in magic wands.

--

Charlie walked into the FBI headquarters, trying to act casual, with Larry trailing right behind him. He had filled Larry in on his conversation with Weasley. Larry seemed intrigued with the idea of magic as some sort of set of advanced physics principals that were beyond their current understanding. That was a very Larry explanation, but somehow it seemed to lack the beauty of it just being... well... magic. But the source of all these powers wasn't his primary problem right now. Right now, he had to get his hands on that magic wand.

"Hey, Don," he said, almost too casually as he approached Don's cube.

"Hey," Don responded. "Did you talk to Weasley?"

"Yeah. Uh-huh. Sure did. You bet," he stopped himself from continuing. He wished he were a better liar. "Didn't get very far, though. It was a total waste of time. So," he cleared his throat, "Larry and I… well, we thought we'd come over here and see if we could take a look at your evidence reports. You know, see if we get any ideas or whatever. I mean, couldn't hurt right?" He smiled brightly and chuckled a little. Don and David exchanged glances. Charlie knew he was a terrible liar but this was by far his worst performance.

"Um, sure," Don said. "Knock yourself out. Let me know if anything jumps out at you." Don rifled through his folder and pulled out a stack of papers.

Charlie laid them on a desk and Larry joined him leaning over them. Charlie forced himself to spend a moment on each page, even though he wanted to tear through them and find the ones related to the wand. Finally, he found it, but it said that it was found among the possessions of Hermione Granger, not Ron Weasley. Of course, Charlie thought, they would each have one. That makes sense. A few pages later he found the one for Weasley. He pulled the two pages to the side and forced himself to pretend to read through the rest of the pages.

"This is interesting," Larry piped up. Charlie cringed internally. Larry was not any better an actor than himself. "What's this about the substance inside these sticks being unknown?" He showed the line to Don.

"Yeah," David answered, "that struck us as strange as well."

"Well," Larry said, "we could analyze it back at the university. We can probably get a better read on what it is there. Your lab analyzers have a lower Faraday constant." Charlie thought it was a good thing Don had gotten a C in physics, otherwise he would obviously realize that Larry was spouting nonsense. But he was spouting it in a very convincing way. "You see, the molecules of wood are compressed in such a way that…"

Don held up a hand. "Okay, whatever. You can figure out what's in these things? That's fine. But be careful because we don't know if they're dangerous or not." He picked up the papers from Charlie and gave them a cursory glance. "Here, you can take this green glittery powder too. See if you can analyze that as well."

"Oh, no problem," Larry said. "We handle toxic substances at the university sometimes. We'll have all the safety procedures in place."

--

Ron sat on the cot in his cell. He kept telling himself that this place was nothing compared to the years that Sirius Black, Harry's falsely imprisoned godfather, had spent in Azkaban. But it was horrible. He wanted to go home to England with Hermione, get married and start their life together. But he also wanted to catch Nikka Fowling. He hoped that Charlie Eppes fellow could do something to help, but he didn't know if he had believed him at all.

"Hey, Weasley!" a guard barked, coming towards him in the hall. "You got a present. It's your magic wand." He said the last two words in a sing-song manner and then began to laugh, his ample belly shaking. "Don't turn me into a frog or anything, okay Weasley?" he said and then started laughing hysterically. He poked the wand through the bars.

Ron reached out and took it. Actually, turning him into a frog wouldn't be very difficult at all, but it seemed far too good for him. After all the "accidental" trips and jabs Ron had suffered at his hands, perhaps the Cruciatus curse would be more apt.

Ron stood in in cell, fingering the smooth wood. Ever since he had started at Hogwarts when he was only 11, he had kept his wand with him night and day. He couldn't believe how much he had missed it. The guard turned down the hall, still chuckling to himself.

The cell to the left of Ron's was empty. The one to the right was occupied, but he was busy writing on a piece of paper. Ron grasped his wand and began to turn. In a moment he reappeared at the location Charlie had told him about. This was the house where the Death Eater supposedly lived.

Ron quickly ducked next to a house which appeared to be abandoned and waited. It wasn't long before a car came down the road. It stopped about a block away and three figures got out. Ron watched as they moved towards him. Once they got close enough, he recognized them.

One was Hermione. As much as he hated to put her in harm's way, he had never been so happy to see her as he was at this moment. She looked good, not bruised or harmed in any way. Perhaps the FBI had been a bit kinder to her than to himself. He was happy that she had been spared the brunt of their punishment.

Next to her was Dr. Eppes, the professor who had come to see him and, he assumed, had recovered his wand. The third person was Dr. Fleinhardt, whom had had briefly encountered during Hermione's unnecessary stint in the muggle hospital. From what Ron could glean, Dr. Fleinhardt was the one who held all the knowledge Nikka Fowling desired. Perhaps he could be used as bait.

Once they were close enough, Ron stepped out from his hiding place. Hermione squealed and ran over to him, jumping into his arms. Despite the desperation of the moment, Ron indulged himself for a moment, reveling in her presence. He kissed her deeply, sinking his hands into the mop of curls she wore on her head. Her small hands dug into his back.

"Are you all right?" he whispered, pressing his face against hers.

"Yes, of course. Are you?" she said. She took his face in her hands and studied it. He could see the pain behind her eyes at his appearance.

"Don't worry. There's nothing these muggles can do that I can't handle," Ron said. Hermione nodded solemnly.

"Here," she said, handing him a small bundle of clothes. "Please change out of that dreadful jumpsuit. I just can't bear to see it." Ron pretended to humor her, but in actuality, trying to pursue Nikka Fowling in such gaudy clothing hardly seemed like a good idea.

He ducked behind a large shrub and quickly changed into the jeans and shirt she had brought him. Ron tossed the jumpsuit into a nearby rubbish bin.

"Listen," he said to the two professors as he returned to where they were, "this is going to be dangerous. I can't guarantee your safety. If you want to turn back, now is the time."

Hermione reached out and squeezed his hand reassuringly. "You know I'm always by your side," she said.

"I know," he said. "But I'm not worried about you. You have a wand." He turned back to the men. "It's you two who have to make a decision."

Eppes swallowed hard. "I have to save Amita. I can't just walk away to save my own skin. She means more to me than I've been willing to admit."

Ron glanced at Hermione. "I know how you feel, mate. Just try to stay out of the way. And whatever you do, don't try to take Nikka on. She'll kill you. That's not a joke, Eppes."

Eppes breathed deeply and nodded. "Charlie. Just call me Charlie. If I'm about to die, I'd at least like to be on a first name basis."

Ron smiled. "Okay, Charlie. I'm Ron." He turned to Fleinhardt. "What about you?"

Larry ran his hands through his hair. "Amita is my friend. And those plans were entrusted to me. I can't turn my back on this. It's Larry, by the way. But, may I ask one small question before we do this? I just have to know." Ron shrugged. Larry pointed at the wand. "What's in those things, anyway?"

"Mine is a unicorn tail hair. Hermione's is a dragon heartstring."

Larry squinted at the wand, puzzling over it. "Yes, but how do you get it in there?"

Hermione shrugged. "Magic."

"But, if you need a wand to do magic, and you need magic to make a wand, then how did the first wand get created?" Larry continued.

Hermione stepped forward and put her hands on his shoulders. "Magic is stronger than logic. Magic existed before wands. Magic just is and has always been."

Larry gave a quick nod. Ron doubted that answer was very satisfying for him. "Let's go catch a bad guy now and worry about the nature of magic some other time, shall we?" Ron asked. "Now, here's the plan."


	9. Chapter 9

"Ready?" Hermione asked Larry, who was standing nervously nearby. Larry nodded. His hands were opening and closing, trying to expel the extra energy. Hermione began to concentrate on the address of the missing house. It only took a moment before it began to grow before them, everything else adjusting to fit its presence. Hermione had done this before. The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, the most powerful group opposing Lord Voldemort, was hidden using the same charm.

Once it had fully materialized, Hermione marched up to the front door and banged on it. There was silence from inside. Hermione knocked again, louder this time. She could hear footsteps approaching. When they paused, Hermione rapped a third and final time. The door opened and Hermione was face to face with Nikka Fowling, disguised in the body of Amita.

"You!" Amita hissed. "I knew you were a witch. I knew the first time I saw you."

Hermione smiled. "We recognized each other. Petrificus Totalis... not bad."

"Well," Amita spat, "what do you want?"

"I want what you want and I've brought an offering." Hermione indicated Larry, who was standing very still and lifeless.

Amita gasped. "Are you mad? You brought a muggle here?"

"Don't worry about it. He's under the Imperius Curse," Hermione said, referring to the curse that allowed the user to control the actions of their victim. "Plus, I'm quite good at memory charms. He won't remember a thing. But he will tell us what we want to know."

Amita held up her wand for Hermione to see. "Is there a reason I shouldn't put a curse on you right now?"

Hermione raised the sleeve of her left arm. Etched in her skin was the Dark Mark, the sign of the Death Eaters, a skull with a snake slithering out of its mouth. It was not authentic; Ron had just placed it there a few moments ago, but hopefully it would be good enough.

Amita looked quite pleased with the situation, but Hermione remained guarded. Amita allowed them to enter the house. Larry followed obediently.

"Now!" Ron yelled and sprinted to the door. Amita pointed her wand at it and it began to slam shut, but Ron wedged his body in between the door and frame. The door trapped him there, squeezing him tight as it tried to shut.

Amita raised her wand, but Hermione was too quick. Blue light shot from her wand and the curse hit Amita from behind. She staggered forward with a grunt of pain.

Ron was still struggling against the bewitched door, which threatened to crush him. Charlie, who had been trying to follow him inside, vainly tried to wrench it open with his hands.

Amita spun around and shot a hex at Hermione. Hermione ducked and sprinted across the room trying to dive behind a piece of furniture. Before she could make it, another curse hit her square in the chest. Momentarily, her feet left the ground and then she slammed to the floor and lay there, unmoving. Larry panicked and took up temporary refuge behind a couch.

Ron managed to work the counter-curse for the door and it flew open with a bang. He clenched his wand and stormed inside, his eyes alive with rage.

He pointed his wand at Amita and uttered an incantation. Amita ducked and the curse hit the wall behind where Amita had been standing. She dashed along the back wall of the room. The magic blew a whole through the wall into the next room. Larry gasped at the power Ron wielded.

Amita spat out another spell, but a shot of light flew from Ron's wand, canceling it out. Again, Amita tried to attack, moving steadily around the room. Ron tracked her from his vantage point by the door. He easily countered it. Larry got the distinct impression that Ron was just playing around with her, making her pay for what she had done to Hermione. Larry wondered if Hermione were dead.

Purple flame shot from Ron's wand and this time it made contact with Amita. She was thrown backwards, slamming her against the back wall. The drywall cracked from the force of impact.

Amita slid down to the floor. Ron waited patiently until she had recovered. Once she stood up again, Ron hurled another curse at her. Once more, she was tossed about like a doll. This time, the impact caused the wand to become dislodged from her fist.

"Accio, wand!" Ron called and it sailed over to him dutifully.

Amita began to back towards the hallway, trying to retreat. Ron advanced on her. She turned and dashed down the hall.

Ron raised his wand over his head and a flaming rope shot out. Ron moved his wand back and forth, and the fire whipped near the ceiling. Ron threw it forward and it flew down the hall, wrapping around Amita. She struggled but the magical bindings were too strong.

With Amita incapacitated, Ron rushed to Hermione. Larry and Charlie cautiously came out from their hiding place to join them. Hermione turned her head and smiled at him. "Dumbledore would be proud," she said. Larry sighed with relief that she was talking.

"Will she be okay?" Charlie asked.

"She'll be fine," Ron replied, planting a kiss on her forehead. "I just need to get her to St. Mungos." He looked up into their confused faces. "It's a magical hospital. They can help her."

"So, where's the real Amita?" Charlie asked.

"That's a good question," Ron answered. Larry helped Hermione over to the couch. Ron crossed to the ensnared Amita. "Are you going to tell me?" But she couldn't answer. She began to sputter and cough.

"What's going on?" Charlie demanded, his eyes wide. Although he knew this was not the Amita he had feelings for, it was still difficult to see her form in agony.

"The potion is wearing off," Ron said. He turned his attention to the couch. "You got her?" he asked Hermione. She nodded. She was regaining her strength already.

"Come on," he said to Charlie, leading him down the hall.

Muffled shouts led them to a small bedroom in the back. Charlie hurried inside and there was the real Amita, bound and gagged in a chair. Her eyes were wild with fear. Charlie tore the bindings from her body and pulled her up to a standing position, bearing all of her weight. She clutched at his back, sobbing into his shoulder. Charlie just held her tight, rocking her gently from side to side.

After a few minutes, the crying tapered off and she pulled away, smoothing her hair and clothes. "It's okay," Charlie whispered. "It's over." She allowed him to lead her into the family room.

Instead of Amita's form wrapped in an enchanted rope, there was a completely different woman. She had pale skin, bright blue eyes, and waist length hair that was so blonde it was almost white. Ron approached her, placing his face right in front of hers. "Hullo, Nikka," he hissed.

Hermione had managed to get off the couch and was now standing. In her hand was Amita's CalSci travel mug. "Polyjuice Potion," she said and then added for Larry and Charlie's benefit, "it enables the drinker to take on the form of another person."

"Right, then," said Ron, picking up a physics textbook that had been tossed casually aside. "Shall we take a quick trip to the Ministry of Magic?"

"What?" Charlie exclaimed, still holding Amita.

"We've got to bring Nikka here to justice," Ron explained. "I'll need you to testify."

"But," Charlie protested, "Amita..."

Larry put an arm around her shoulder, drawing her away from Charlie. "I'll take care of her until you get back."

--

"Porticus!" Ron announced, pointing his wand at the book. He grabbed Nikka's hand and held it firmly against it.

Hermione also touched it lightly. "It's a portkey," she said, as if that explained anything. "You just need to touch it. Even a finger will do."

Charlie glanced back once more at Amita. He didn't want to leave her, but he had to do his duty. He decided he wasn't leaving without finally settling some unfinished business. In a moment of uncharacteristic bravado, Charlie grabbed Amita around her waist and pulled her to him. He planted a long, hard kiss on her soft lips. She didn't resist, and even began to kiss him back. When she did pull away, she touched her fingers to her lips in surprise and delight. "I'll be right back," he promised and Amita nodded.

He tentatively laid a finger against the textbook and immediately it was as if a hook had grabbed him behind his navel. He felt his feet lift off the ground and he was flying. His finger felt glued to the book. The trip seemed to take forever but finally they began their descent.

Charlie's legs gave out as soon as they touched land. He felt his body crash into the black marble floor, not from the force of impact, but from their inability to carry his weight. The room was spinning and he felt his stomach heave.

Hermione knelt down next to him. "Portkeys really aren't meant for these types of distances," she said. "Here. It will help."

She handed him a vial of a black liquid that seemed to shine with some sort of green pearl-essence. She encouraged him to take a sip. Charlie was in no position to argue. He lifted it to his lips. It felt like he was swallowing small ball bearings that seemed to explode inside his stomach. They released a warm feeling that rose up until it filled his whole body. The nausea and dizziness subsided.

Charlie got to his feet. "What was that?" he asked.

"Potion of Recovery. An old friend made some for us. Usually we would fly on brooms, but it was out of the question given the circumstances."

"He alright?" Ron asked and Hermione nodded. "See you in a bit, then," he said, pecking her on the cheek. He led Nikka to a smooth piece of wall and waved his wand. A door appeared in from of him with the words "Aurors Only" written above it. Ron led Nikka through the door and it disappeared behind him.

"Come on," Hermione urged Charlie, leading him to the far end of the hall. As they walked, Charlie marveled at his surroundings. Fireplaces lined both sides of the hallway. Witches and wizards seemed to be using them as some sort of transportation device.

They approached a guard standing next to a metal contraption. "Wand?" the guard barked. Hermione handed hers over and the guard placed it on the machine. A small piece of paper was spit out. "Fifteen inches, vine, dragon heartstring core, in use for twelve years. That right?"

"Yeah," Hermione affirmed and the guard returned her wand. He turned to Charlie. "He's a muggle," she explained. "Auror Ron Weasley is raising an immediate Wizengamot. He's here to provide testimony."

The guard nodded. "All appropriate memory charms will be applied?"

"Of course," affirmed Hermione. Charlie wondered what, exactly, was involved with a memory charm, and how much of his memory he would lose. There was a very recent memory that he would very much like to hold on to.

The guard pulled two small badges from a slot in the machine and handed them to Hermione and Charlie. "Wear these," he ordered. Both badges identified them as Visitors, but Charlie's was much larger and bright yellow, marking him, in no uncertain terms, as a muggle. "An escort will be here shortly," the guard said and moved on to a couple of wizards who had just appeared behind them.

After a few moments, a witch with bright blue hair approached them. "Tonks!" Hermione exclaimed happily.

"Hermione!" she replied, hugging her old friend. "Come on. They've sent me to escort you to the Wizengamot. Is it true Ron's got Nikka Fowling? It's all over the Auror's office. He's in line for a promotion for this one."

Hermione suppressed a smile behind her hand as they scurried behind Tonks. She led them onto an elevator that began to descend into the ground. Tonks continued off the elevator to a large oaken door. "Good luck," she said, giving Hermione another reassuring hug. Charlie noticed that most witches and wizards liked to act as if he weren't in the room. It was as if they regarded him as a pet instead of a person.

Hermione opened the doors and Charlie gasped. There were about 50 witches and wizards seated behind long benches, staring at them. Nikka's magical bindings were gone and she was incarcerated in a large, steel cage. Next to her was a second cage, but it was empty. Her eyes were fixed, not on the inquisition in front of her, but on a creature hovering near the door. It wore a long shroud, so that Charlie could not see its face. Something about the being gave Charlie chills.

"Dementors," whispered Hermione, following Charlie's line of vision. "Nasty creatures." Charlie turned and met her eyes. "They guard the wizarding prison. The less you know about them, the better."

Charlie was speechless. Could he really allow this woman to be condemned to such an awful place? He had never really wanted to meet a prison guard in a dark alley, but at least they were human beings, capable of empathy and sympathy. This hollow shell, Charlie was quite sure, possessed the capacity for neither.

Charlie took a deep breath and conjured up the image of Amita tied to a chair, fear bulging out of her eyes. The rage welled inside of him. He had to do this. He had to get justice, for Amita's sake.

The trial began. One of the older wizards, who seemed to serve as both judge and jury, read the list of charges and then Ron had his say. Charlie was surprised at how long Ron talked, presenting evidence that stretched back years. The things that had transpired at CalSci were just the tip of the iceberg.

Charlie also discovered he was not the only witness. The empty cage next to Nikka was filled on two different occasions with current prisoners, come to testify about Nikka's past. Each one seemed almost frantic to tell what they knew, grasping at any chance they might be released from the icy grasp of the Dementors.

When they finally got to the present, the council all turned to Charlie. He did his best, recounting the events that had occurred only hours before, but now felt so long ago.

Once he was done, the council dismissed him and Hermione while they deliberated. Tonks, the blue-haired witch was still waiting for them. "Well?" she asked expectantly.

Hermione cocked her head back towards the courtroom. "I guess we'll know in a bit. It actually went quite well, I think."

"Fingers crossed, then," Tonks said. "No sense in hovering about here. Arthur wants to meet the muggle." Tonks looked quite amused as she said the last sentence.

"You're in for it now," Hermione warned Charlie, her eyes dancing with mischief.


	10. Chapter 10

Once again Charlie followed after Tonks and Hermione who were talking animatedly, catching up on all the gossip. Charlie didn't know who any of the people they discussed were and neither woman was paying him the least bit of attention anyway. They rode the elevator up several floors, joined by a flock of paper airplanes that seemed capable of getting themselves from one place to another. "Memos," Hermione explained quickly to Charlie and went back to her conversation with Tonks. Charlie wished they had a system like this at CalSci rather than their unreliable mailroom.

Tonks led them to a small office cramped with two desks. Seated behind one of them was an older man whose hair looked like it had once been as red as Ron's before the grey began to creep in. "Hullo, Tonks!" he greeted when she knocked.

"Hullo, Arthur. I've brought you the muggle." She nudged Charlie closer to the door. "This is Charlie Eppes."

Arthur practically salivated with excitement. Well, at least someone around here seemed to like muggles. "A muggle," he gasped. He clamped Charlie's hands between his own and began to pump mercilessly. "Wonderful. Splendid to have you here. Come in, come in," he said. Charlie tentatively stepped in the office, squeezing in between the furniture. "Oh, we won't need this," he said cheerily and flicked his wand. The second desk vanished. "My office mate will be most cross that I've done that, but we don't want you to be uncomfortable."

Charlie stood in the middle of the new empty space with his hands in his pockets. What could this man possibly want with him?

"What? No kiss for your future daughter-in-law?" Hermione piped up.

Arthur looked almost surprised to see her standing there. "Oh! Hermione! How are you?" He embraced the young woman and kissed her cheek. So, this was Ron's father. At least that explained the hair.

"Well, Mr. Eppes and I have much to discuss so off with you," he said, dismissing the women and shutting the door. Charlie heard a lock click as Arthur returned to his seat behind his desk. Charlie looked around for a chair for himself but couldn't find one. "So, Mr. Eppes, what exactly do you do for a living?"

Charlie cleared his throat. "It's actually Dr. Eppes, and I'm a professor at CalSci. Mathematics," he offered.

Arthur nodded vigorously even though Charlie got the impression he didn't really understand. "So, you study things. How things work?"

"Yes," said Charlie. He supposed it was close enough.

"Like, for example, airplanes. You know how they stay in the air." Arthur was leaning forward in anticipation.

"Airplanes? Sure. But many other things too..."

Arthur cut him off. "Yes, but airplanes. Tell me, how do they stay up in the air?"

Charlie realized he was meant to give a private lecture to this man. Well, at least it was on a topic he understood. Charlie looked around for something to write with. On the desk was a large quill pen which wasn't exactly what he was hoping for.

"Oh, silly me," Arthur said. "You use these, don't you?" Another wand flick and a blackboard and chalk appeared on the wall.

"Thanks," Charlie said. He picked up the chalk and drew an airplane wing."It's a question of air pressure," Charlie began.

"Air has pressure?" Arthur interrupted.

"Well, yes. I mean, air has weight, so it presses down on us at 14.7 lbs per square inch. It's what holds us together. In fact astronauts wear special suits that emulate the earth's air pressure other wise they would explode."

"Hmmm...yes...and we wouldn't want those astro-nuggets exploding. That would make quite a mess indeed," Arthur replied solemnly.

Charlie opened his mouth to explain, and then decided that there would be no point. Charlie talked for a good fifteen minutes about planes and wings and air pressure. He was positive that Arthur wasn't understanding a word of it, but he seemed so delighted, especially by Charlie's drawings and equations that Charlie couldn't help but humor him.

"That's pretty much how it works," Charlie said, trying to brush the chalk dust from his hands. He was used to using a chalk holder.

"Splendid!" Arthur said, coming out from behind his desk. He flicked his wand at Charlie's hands, which instantly became clean. "And this." Another wave of the wand and sheet of paper slid out from behind the blackboard. Charlie saw that it was an exact copy of the contents of the board. He snickered.

"What's amusing?" Arthur asked excitedly, wanting to be in on the joke.

"Oh, it's nothing. It's just that we have boards that can do that too. You know, make a printout of what you've written."

Arthur looked perplexed. "You have magic boards?"

"No, they're not magic. They just... never mind," he said.

Arthur tapped the paper with his wand and suddenly it was affixed to the wall as if it were artwork. He magically cleared the blackboard and plopped back down in his seat.

"Go on," he encouraged, "how do they work?"

Charlie sighed and picked up the chalk again. He actually didn't know exactly how they worked. It wasn't as if he had ever taken one apart. But he could theorize, and this guy was certainly never going to know the difference.

Charlie lectured for a good two hours to a captivated, and utterly baffled, audience on all sorts of topics: batteries, televisions, remote control cars, light switches. Finally there was a merciful knock at the door. Charlie gratefully saw Ron standing there. Charlie was definitely ready to go home.

"Nikka Fowling has a new permanent residence at Azkaban," Ron said triumphantly. Charlie had gleaned from the trial that Azkaban was the prison of the wizarding world.

Arthur smiled broadly and embraced his son. "Well done! Well done indeed!" He clapped the younger Weasley on the arms. "I shall send an owl to your mother right away, and tonight, we celebrate. You'll join us of course, Dr. Eppes?"

Charlie tensed at the thought of spending any more time with this man. He couldn't imagine eating some exotic wizarding food while explaining the internal mechanism of a toilet. Luckily, Ron stepped in.

"Dad, no, I need to take him back before he's missed. You shouldn't have locked him in here to begin with. Tonks should have sent him back as soon as the trial was over."

Arthur sniffed indignantly. "We were only having a friendly little chat. I think he rather liked finding a wizard so knowledgeable about the muggle world."

Ron snickered. "Yeah, Dad, I'm sure it was a real treat. Tell mum I'll be there when I can, okay?" He led Charlie out to the hall. "My Dad's a bit enthusiastic about muggles," he explained, even though Charlie thought that was an understatement. "All set?" He reached into his robe and pulled out the textbook again. "Portus!" he called, tapping it with his wand. Once again, the book began to dance with magic. Charlie laid his hand upon it and once again he was spinning through the air.

--

"There you are!" Alan exclaimed, rushing into the room.

Charlie blinked. He felt like he had been asleep for a week. He rubbed his eyes. He was sitting on the couch in his living room. I don't remember sitting down here, he thought.

Something moved to his right. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Amita. When he turned his head to look at her, pain shot through his neck. How long had he been sitting here? "I feel like my head is going to explode," Amita groaned as she rubbed her temples.

"Me too," came a voice from Charlie's other side. It was Larry. He was wearing a baseball cap that was at least two sizes too big.

"What are you wearing?" Alan demanded much too loudly. He snatched the hat off Larry's head. "Disneyland? You guys went to Disneyland?"

"I don't remember that," Amita said, groggily. She squinted at Charlie's shirt and moved his arms for a better look. "Space Mountain," she read.

Charlie looked. He was definitely wearing a Space Mountain t-shirt. Larry was wearing the same shirt, but his was too small, revealing a soft roll of belly between his pant waist and the bottom of his shirt. Charlie found the sight of Larry's belly button more than a little repulsive. Sometimes Amita would wear shirts that showed off her navel and, somehow, Charlie found his reaction to be quite the opposite.

Amita picked up a pink Minnie Mouse banner from the table. "Did we go to Disneyland?" she asked, disbelieving.

"Well, you went somewhere," Alan replied. "You three have been gone all day. You know, Charlie, you're a grown man. You can come and go as you please. I just ask that you leave a note or something." He poked his head into the kitchen. "They're in here!"

Don emerged and plopped down into one of the armchairs. He quickly examined Larry's cap. "Great. You guys go to an amusement park while I deal with all the headaches." Charlie didn't think that Don's headache could possibly compare to his own.

"What's going on?" Charlie asked, even though he wished everyone would just stop talking. Larry was fishing a half-eaten hot dog out of his pocket. He examined it, sniffed it, and took a bite. Amita looked disgusted.

"Well, we were going back through all the evidence and we found the blueprints. I mean, Larry, do you know how much trouble I'm in? You just misplace something and decide to call the FBI? Do you know how much money and time we wasted? They are going to audit my entire department."

Larry blinked rapidly and swallowed his hot dog. "Don, I'm sorry. I..."

Don waved his hand. "It's okay. If they were in your office and my people missed it, I can't really blame you for that, can I?" He sighed. "So we went to release that Ron Weasley from prisoner for lack of evidence and found out someone got there and released him first." Don scrubbed his face with hands. "At least someone was on the ball. Okay," he said, standing, "I'm going home and taking a nap. I'll figure this out in the morning."

"Is my car out there?" Larry asked. Don looked outside. "I don't see it. You need a ride home?"

Larry hauled himself off the couch. "Yes, please, if you wouldn't mind."

"Amita? You want a ride too? As long as I'm playing chauffeur," Don sighed, pulling on his jacket. Amita followed the two men out the door.

"So," Alan said, "if Larry didn't drive, how did you get to Disneyland?"

Charlie frowned. "I'm not sure. Magic? A nap sounds great. Wake me when dinner's ready?" Charlie staggered upstairs. He just couldn't remember anything from the past few days. Maybe with a little sleep it would come to him. Just like magic.


End file.
